


A Dragonborn by Any Other Name

by Thegoldendragonborn



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Actual Septim Dragonborn, F/M, Gen, Half-Elves, Half-Human, Two Protagonists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thegoldendragonborn/pseuds/Thegoldendragonborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two centuries ago the Empire was shaken to its core when the last of the Septim line turned into the Avatar of Akatosh. Turmoil raged as a new dynasty was forcibly founded. During this time, the Champion of Cyrodill disappeared into the shadows of a new life, before losing everything once more five years later.</p>
<p>Now, dragons fly above Skyrim as two sisters return to the land they knew as children. These two sisters can change Tamriel's history, can unite Skyrim from the blazing civil war, can unite the Empire. Or they can tear it all apart. These two sisters are a secret and an enigma to all, carrying between them a legacy that will push them to make history…unless they fall under its weight.These two sisters will change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Hero of Kvatch

**_ Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the ideas in my head. I don't own the Elder scrolls series or anything you may recognise. _ **

__ Lena hurried through the night, keeping to the shadows. She was careful to avoid the guards, she didn't know where she stood in the eyes of the law at the moment. Finally she reached the door and knocked, three long, one short. Jauffre opened it, a suspicious look in his eye. _ _

_ " _ __ Lena?" She simply nodded. _ _

_ " _ __ I need to talk to you Jauffre…. It's about Martin." _ _

__ He sighed and opened the door, letting her in before shutting and locking it again. He didn't know why she had insisted on all the cloak and dagger, he much preferred being straight-forward. Lena sighed, her gold-toned skin pale in worry and exhaustion. She took off her cloak and laid it on her arm, before turning to face him, raw fear in her eyes for the first time he had seen. She was cradling her hands around her stomach protectively. _ _

_ " _ __ Oh." Came his simple response to the revelation. _ _

_ " _ __ Five months at least." _ _

_ " _ __ You're sure it's his?" _ _

__ The Altmer didn't even bother to reply, instead springing up to start pacing. "I'm not handing my child, OUR child over to the wolves of politics. She'll die before she reaches her first birthday." _ _

_ " _ __ She?" _ _

_ " _ __ Just a feeling." She continued pacing, before stopping and turning to face him again. "Jauffre…. I killed a man last night. Me. I haven't slept since, but he found out…. He found out who the father was. I couldn't let my child get thrown to the politicians." _ _

__ Jauffre suppressed his shock, though he did suppose she was just like one of those mother bears protecting her cubs. Already his mind was racing. "If you killed a man… That means the Brotherhood might try to claim you." He held up a hand to silence her cry. "Let them. Join, and do whatever you have to do, but keep the last Septim alive. She will be Dragonborn, and I have a feeling we will need her help sooner rather than later." _ _

**_ Five years later – Bravil _ **

__ Lena settled Gwen, named after her father's Daedric friend Sanguine, on the front of Shadowmere's saddle, before swinging up behind her, wincing as she got a kick in retort from her midsection. She winced, but trotted the black horse out of town, trying to explain why the little girl couldn't see her poppa shadow anymore without scarring her any more than had to have happened after spending the first four and a half years of her life with the Dark Brotherhood. _ _

__ She finally was able to convince her daughter to be quiet, though she patted her black hair with her free hand as she rode. She was to be a listener, she was to rebuild the brotherhood in Cyrodill, but at the cost of her Shadow, her Lucien. She rested a hand on her midsection as she rode north, wondering if this child, like her Guenivere, would have her build, but their father's overall colouring. _ _

__ She rode the pass to Skyrim easily, she needed to find another Speaker and she had been told by the Night Mother the next Listener, her assistant, resided there. She would be away a few months, but she had to leave her children somewhere safe, in case one day she didn't come home. _ _

 

 


	2. Next Prisoner!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon after being reunited, two sisters find their way to the headsman's block.

** Disclaimer: I don't own TES, or I would be a very rich person, and make the player character able to be a Jarl and/or High King/Queen, and/or Emperor/Empress. What can I say. Power is FUN! **

It appeared to be the end of a long journey…

Ralof studied the unconscious girls sitting in the cart to pass the time, wondering what they were going to the block for. They weren't his Stormcloak brethren, caught in the ambush like they were; or he would recognise them. Probably sisters, both with long hair, one a rich brown, the other jet black. They were strange and exotic looking, as if they had walked off the plains of oblivion. They had high cheekbones, and tilted eyes, like any typical mer, but their colouring was human, apart from maybe a slight hint of gold. He wondered if perhaps they had elven ancestry, maybe half or quarter blood. He noticed them stirring, and deduced the sleeping poison must be wearing off.

"Finally waking up I see," Ralof offered cheerfully, then caught his breath. Their eyes were… striking. The slightly taller girl on the left, had rich, sapphire blue eyes, more saturated than he had seen on any of his fellow Nords. The other, with the raven hair, had brown eyes, the colour of chocolate. The brown-eyed girl leaned against the other, looking around angrily, as if she was fuelled by an unseen flame.

"Where are we?"

"In Skyrim. Bound for Helgen by the looks of it."

They shared a look, obviously alarmed by this news, and he deduced they probably weren't expecting that answer.

"Weren't you caught trying to cross the border?"

The blue eyed girl answered this time. "Yes. We were just trying to get through to visit… friends and the next thing we knew we had walked into an ambush." She seemed oddly calm, for someone heading for her death, though her eyes said she was in no way resigned to her fate.

"Quiet prisoners!" Grunted the cart driver as they rolled down the last hill into Helgen.

It seemed they were nearing the end of the line, for there was a general standing there, accompanied by an arrogant looking Thalmor. The carts rolled into the courtyard and the prisoners were ordered to dismount,  _ So the Imperials could check their lists. Damn lists.  _ The thoughts ran through Ralof's mind unintentionally, as if it was trying not to think about what was happening.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm" called a tired looking captain.

His Jarl stepped forward, they had gagged him like an animal, but he walked, dignified and head high, to the area directed.

"Ralof of Riverwood." Ralof glared and faced him, and he realised it was Hadvar, his childhood friend, checking the list. A few more prisoners were called and they stopped, leaving the two girls. One seemed to have a chain on under her ragged clothes. He looked again and it was gone.

"And what's your names?" Hadvar asked.

The taller one stepped forward. "Guenevere Se…" She was stopped from finished her word by a nudge in the back by her sister. She composed herself "Guenevere of Cyrodill."

Hadvar raised an eyebrow at the slip, but didn't comment, instead asking the other.

"And you?" There weren't any slip-ups this time, she stood unwavering.

"Luciana. Also of Cyrodill… like my sister."

Odd names they were, and the slip intrigued him. Ralof watched Hadvar consult his list again.

The Legate appeared bored. "They're not on the list."

"They go to the block anyway," Hadvar sighed, and looked to the sisters. "I'm sorry," He didn't meet their eyes. "I'll make sure your remains are sent back to Cyrodill."

Luciana's was about to reply a scathing remark but was cut off by an ominous roar from the mountains. "What WAS that?!" she spluttered. Instead though she didn't get a reply. Instead the ignorant imperials continued to act like nothing was wrong. They went ahead with the first execution, a female warrior murmuring with pride that the soldier was as fearless in death as he was in life.

"You, with the blue cat-eyes."

Gwen stepped forward, head high, knelt, and whispered a prayer . With resignation she placed her neck gently on the block. Her lips stayed moving as the headsman raised the axe. A rush of beating wings, her prayers were answered.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is being gradually ported over from Fanfiction.Net/Wattpad. Once I have exhausted my available chapters updates will slow greatly as I write again.


	3. What comes next?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escape from Helgen

Escaping from Helgen was a blur of corridors, rooms and tunnels. Gwen ran through the old keep with a flame spell in one hand and a sword in the other. Hadvar hadn't been amused when she stopped to skin the bear, but she defended herself, she could sell it, or tan it into leather. When the pair finally emerged into the fading daylight they cowered behind a rock as the dragon flew overhead, hopefully departed for good.

"I hope Lucia got away alright." Gwen remarked, looking back at the cave behind them. She had a feeling her sister was alright, but she did have such a knack for getting in trouble.

"I'm sure she'll be fine." Hadvar remarked, looking over the valley and starting down the road, before looking back to see if the girl was following. "Riverwood's this way. My uncle lives there and I'm sure he'll be able to put you up for a bed for the night."

Gwen blinked, surprised by the offer, but started after him. "Thank you. Not many would offer such hospitality to a stranger." Hadvar guided them toward the road, looking around occasionally for signs of others.

"I think o it this way. If you were going to kill me, you had ample chance already. I know you were a prisoner, but your name wasn't on the list, which makes me believe it was a mistake. I know you're good with a sword, and can hold your own in a fight, but I don't know anything more about you, which makes me curious." He continued chatting on the way to Riverwood, pointing out landmarks and local scenery. Finally the pair passed under the walkway that marked the entry to the small village. Gwen was introduced to Hadvar's uncle Alvor and offered a bed for the night, which she accepted only hesitantly, with much prodding from Hadvar.

She settled into the hard bed as best she could a few hours later, hand absentmindedly holding her amulet, which she was determined to keep hidden. She sighed and shifted. Tomorrow was another day, and Lucia was more than capable of taking care of herself. She would make her way to Whiterun in the morning and maybe try and find a job there. It shouldn't be too hard. With that thought, she rolled over and fell gently into sleep.


	4. Just another day in Whiterun

_Breathe._

_Embrace the shadows and they won't see you._

_Breathe._

_They're building a pyre, how many bodies._

_Breathe._

_Where are the others? Where is Lucia?_

_Breathe._

_Sumerset, gone, Vvanderfall, taken by the Tong, High Rock, Black Marsh, all the shadowscales, dead, Cyrodill, the heart, the Lucky Old Lady, defiled, Elseweyr, her own home, the bodies the pyre._

_Breathe._

_Draw the dagger, silently. Vengeance, no-one crosses the brotherhood._

_Breathe._

_The smoke, billowing, a dark cloud across the jungle._

_Breathe._

_A touch of metal, blood, a scream._

Gwen's scream in her dream, nightmare, was enough to wake the whole house, which she apologised endlessly for. Corinthe was gone, as was all her Dark brothers and sisters but her only blood relative, who was now missing. She left the small village but hours later, heading off down the road to Whiterun with a message. The town was visible over the plains as she heard the sound of fighting breaking out. She drew her sword and raced off, not being the master of subterfuge fighting like her sister. The giant was finally fallen, with a sword to the hamstring, but the girl was gone before she could be spoken to.

She pulled up the hood she had taken from the mages' body in Helgen, leaving her face in shadow. The guard stopped her at the gate but a quick word… and the mention of Helgen and she was in the city. She looked up the hill toward the castle, before sighing. She didn't want to go face another puffed up, pompous fool who would think he had authority over her. Instead she headed straight ahead, catching sounds of a market on the wind as it gusted. She browsed, selling the few things she didn't need, and took notice of where the general goods store and alchemist were, in case she needed to do a little… 'shopping' later.

Heading into the inn, Gwen leaned on the counter, smiling readily. She opened her purse. "A drink please. And any news if you could." The woman wiping the bar propped her chin in her elbow.

"Depends what you want to know."

"Any bounties? Rumours?" The innkeepers were always a good source of gossip, and often there were bounties there for adventurers.

"Jarl's men dropped this off the other day. Giant been attacking farms in the area. As for rumours…" her voice dropped, and she leaned closer. "They say the Thieves Guild has its headquarters in Riften, city of scum that is." She almost spat the words and Gwen filed the information away in her mind for later. After a few hours of listening to the bard's songs, the picking of a few pockets, and a hired bed later, Gwen sat, and pulled her amulet out from under her clothes. The red gem pulsed softly, and she ran her fingers over it's many-faceted face. If she listened carefully, she could almost hear a soft singing, and she still wasn't sure whether that had always been part of the stories of not. Of course she knew what she held, and why she held it, but she WASN'T an Empress. She was a person who preferred to melt into the shadows than stand in the sun. She didn't think anyone would appreciate having someone with her… tendencies as their ruler. Anyway. It was time to sleep, and sleep she would, and deal with this dragon business in the morning.


	5. Shakedowns and Pockets Picked

_A ring a ring of rosies,_

_A pocket full of posies,_

_A tissue, a tissue,_

_They all fall down._

Gwen sighed as she sat up, the old tune running through her head. It had been over a century since she played that game last, but she still remembered it as clear as if it was yesterday. They all fell down in the end, whether they served Talos, Sithis or even Nocturnal. Eventually they all fell down. She clambered out of bed and pulled on her clothes, picking up her pack. She sight wistfully, wishing she still had her armour, it had been soft, not heavy like so much other amour in this land, but still strong. But it was no use wishing for what she didn't have. She needed some armour, and for that she needed gold, and to obtain that she would need to find a fence, something difficult to do when you weren't part of the guild. So that was another thing on her list. She really should visit the Jarl, give him the news… but no. The dragons could wait. Knowing her luck he would send her on some quest, to kill something or find something, which she would need to find armour for. So she had to go to Riften, and join the Skyrim guild.

Not two hours later, her bundle lightened significantly, having sold all the things that either weren't stolen, or weren't traceable as stolen, Gwen stole out of Whiterun, as the sun was still rising over the walls, and trotted down the hill to the carriage, hoping the driver was out of bed and there. Nocturnal was favouring her it seemed, he was simply sitting at the carriage, looking around. "How much for a ride?" she asked, eyes fluttering.

"Depends. Where do you want to go?" It seemed her flattery wouldn't get her anywhere, so she lost the act, standing tall and proud.

"Riften."

"That's a rough city for a girl like yerself. But if ye insist. 20 gold."

She drew her breath in sharply. That was rather expensive, and she could take the road, but then it would take longer, and she would have to deal with bandits, and while she could use the gold, the inconvenience would be a pain. "Fine." She handed over the money and clambered into the cart, settling in for a bumpy ride.

The wagon was not bothered by any bandits as they plodded along the road, leading Gwen to believe the driver must have an arrangement with them, especially when they were waved past a fort. But that suited her just fine, giving her a little information on the man. She spent her time looking around, mentally noting any landmarks she would visit when she had time and armour. Finally they arrived, and she leapt down, thanking the driver, and walking towards the gate, until the guard stepped in front of her.

"Halt. Before entering the city you need to pay the visitor's tax." Gwen simply laughed, seeing the shakedown easily. They could at least have been a little more creative about it.

"Nice try, but I'm not going to pay a shakedown." The guard cringed.

"Fine. But keep it quiet. Let me unlock the gate." He did so and she entered the city, nose wrinkling almost immediately. Some burly big man tried to speak to her, intimidate her, but she brushed him off. She followed the path across the bridge, hearing the sounds of a market, and stood, leaning against the wall of an inn as she surveyed the scene. The merchants seemed legitimate, instead of one. She simply shook her head at his antics. Falmer-blood elixir? Ridiculous. She bet it was tomato juice, or something similarly ineffective.

It was time to make her move, while he was distracted, and while there were no guards around. She may not be good at subterfuge in killing, but she was a good thief. She dropped into a crouch, sidling up behind him and gently moving her hand into his pocket, closing around the first things she found. A key. Good. She would bet it wouldn't open anything, but it was a good thing to make a point with. She drew it out, and stepped back, going around the well in the centre to spin the large decorative loop around her finger, making sure to let it catch the light. He smiled.

"Can I help ye lass?" She stretched lazily, keeping hold of the key.

"Fine state your guild must be in, if it can't even keep watch of it's own pockets." Her words didn't have much of a visible effect on him, not to the untrained eye, but hers took in the tightening at the corners of his eyes, the glint that ran though them, the sour note in his laugh.

"You looking to join then? I hope you don't mind helping…?" She frowned, her eyes piercing.

"I do mind. I just picked your pocket… here's your key back by the way. And now you want me to do your dirty work. Doesn't that usually happen AFTER one joins a guild?" She had her arms crossed now, tapping her foot. "Obviously I am competent, or I would not have been able to pick a guild member's pockets.

"Alright, alright lass. You've made your point. Meet me at the Ragged Flagon, in the Ratway, and I'll introduce you to Mercer. You'll be his problem then." Gwen had her suspicions she wasn't supposed to hear that part, but she smiled, waving her fingers at him.

"Meet you there."


	6. Old Friends, New Beginnings

Gwen grinned as she walked off from the stand, heading over to the blacksmith's and entering a conversation, which turned to haggling over a set of light armour. She would bet this Ragged Flagon would not be easy to find, and the Ratway, full of scum. She casually asked where the entrance was, posing it as a question about a bounty, and received an answer. The door was near the marketplace, down the stairs, leading to a sewer by the sounds of it. How terrific. But she kept the cheerful smile up as she found a place to change, stripping down and putting her new armour on quickly and efficiently. Then, it was time. She descended the rickety stairs, treading carefully lest they collapse beneath her, and eyed the footbridge with distaste. It looked as if it would collapse at a moment's notice, but she her sharp blue eyes caught the door across from her. There was nothing for it but to try. Though it creaked dangerously, it held as she crossed, and she smiled darkly, pushing on the door.

The Ratway was dark and dingy, lit only by torchlight. She ducked into a side alcove as she heard voices up ahead. It seemed to be a pair of bandit-types, nothing too difficult to take care of. A few fireballs and all that was left was a pair of charred corpses and some still-smoking coins, which she pocketed. No use wasting them after all. Her journey continued in this way, getting lost few times, and almost being killed by traps, until she came to a well-lit room with a table in the middle, and another scumbag. She dispatched him easily, and walked to the door, pulling out her cloak from her pack and pulling the hood up, concealing her face in darkness. It was time.

Gwen pushed the door open cautiously, ears straining, picking up the sound of conversations, as she took in the room, with the dingy pool of water, and the planks covering it. She skirted the edges, looking at the sign to confirm this was the right place. The Ragged Flagon. Ragged it was. She inclined her head to the bouncer, and walked softly up to the group near the bar, recognising the Nord man's flaming hair.

"I took care of your Skeever infestation for you." Brynjolf seemed to start at her words, causing the man across from him to grin.

"Maybe ye're onto something Bryn. Not many who can sneak up on you." Gwen chuckled, keeping the hood up, and offereing her hand.

"I'm guessing not many can pick his pockets either. I'm Gwen." The man, Breton, by the looks of it, and highly amused, took her hand.

"Delvin. Delvin Mallory." He shook it, firmly, with a twinkle in his eye. "Ye' ever tire of Bryn here and I'll show you what a true master can do." Gwen flinched, almost unperceptively, and her eyes cooled.

"I think there's enough bastards in my bloodline. But thankyou for the offer." She deflected him, and turned to Bryn, who seemed amused, but also curious at the display. "What now?" He grinned.

"Now we put you to work." Gwen groaned slightly, and rubbed her eyes.

"Isn't there somewhere I can unload first?" The redhead snorted.

"Tonilia's the fence around here Lass. But she won't sell or buy anything to you if you're not a full member yet." Gwen grumbled under her breath.

"Fine. Let's get this over and done with then."

The first job was over and done with easily, she asked for the money, she wasn't given it. She threatened objects, and she was. She returned to the flagon, and finally unloaded, eyeing Delvin, until it finally clicked where she had seen him.

"Delvin?" Her voice carried across to where he was in conversation with Brynjolf, about introducing her to a Mercer. He grumbled, but came over.

"Yes Gwen?" His brow perked, and she reached up to her hood, pulling it back, and revealing that distinctive face, causing him to take an unsteady step back. "Guenivere. It has been a while. Almost didn't recognise ye." She laughed.

"It may have been a while for you. You grew up." And it was true. Gone was the teen she had once had following her around like a lovesick puppy, when she had visited Skyrim last. "Scratch that." She took another look at him. "You grew old."

"Old?" he said, in mock-hurt. "Not everyone lives for centuries girl. And I prefer to think of it as vintage." She simply snorted, and linked her arm through his, half-afraid he would ask about the brotherhood.

"Let me buy you a drink and tell me what I've gotten myself into. I can meet this Mercer later. " She directed the last to Brynjolf, who was looking on with a raised eyebrow. "Isn't he the one you were always getting into trouble, and fights with? Remember all those stories you used to tell." She grinned, and before long they had a table in a corner, and drinks in hands, catching up, like old friends.


	7. A Sister Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Lucia to get some limelight!

Meanwhile…. In Falkreath Hold.

"Up the path, past the town, look to the right, then go down." Lucia muttered under her breath, walking sullenly along the road. She had spent the last few days away from people, after waking in a cold draughty cave. She already missed the warmth of southern Cyrodill, or the hot deserts of Elseweyr, where she had spent her time. She just hoped the old rhyme was still correct, and the sanctuary hadn't moved in the last century. Or been lost, like the others. Finally she found a path, which seemed to fit the description, heading slightly downhill into a small grove, with a pond. And the door. That was when she knew she was on the right track. Frantically, she searched her mind for the passphrase, it had been so long, and stepped up to the door, placing her hand on the matching print.

"What is the music of life?" The door asked, eyes glowing, voice cold and gravelled.

It hit her, the answer she remembered her mother saying, so many times… her mother… but she pushed the thought away. "Silence my brother."

The door scraped open, groaning, with a whispered "Welcome home, sister."

She smoothed her dark robes, the best she had been able to procure, and heard voices, mostly unfamiliar, but a few vaguely triggering her memory. Then a child's voice, old beyond her apparent years cut through.

"You may choose to be unconcerned, but that is not Festus." A low growl seemed to agree, as mayhem was heard to break out. Lucia sighed, and descended the stairs. She couldn't be sure of the reaction, but would have to speak quickly to ensure she wasn't killed. She spoke in return, knowing there would be at least two assassins around the corner, throwing her hood back.

"No. I'm not that impudent boy Babbette. I know it's been a while but surely you remember your friend." There was a squeal, and a small shape pushed between the pair, throwing herself at Lucia, who let out a small whomph. She chuckled, and wrapped her arms around the small girl, who gave her a wide smile, revealing her fangs.

"Lucia! You're alive!" She stepped away, and dragged her to the main hall, where there were various others gathered, all dressed in muted burgundies and black. They all looked curiously at the person their small friend was half-dragging in. Babette grinned. "Brothers, sisters, this is Lucia. She has been part of the family almost as long as I have." Lucia smiled, and inclined her head.

"How do you do everyone." She wasn't sure what to make of the looks she was getting, having the feeling she had upset something. She tilted her head quizzically. "Is the Mistress of the sanctuary in?" At the words, a blonde figure pushed through the crowd, and crossed her arms. The face was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. She hadn't been to Skyrim in a long time, far longer than her sister. The honey tones triggered something though, a memory.

"We didn't think anyone from Cheyindal was still alive, except the Keeper. Is he with you?" Lucia's eyes flared in alarm.

"Cheyindal's gone?! I was attached to Lleyawin. And mother…." She sat abruptly on the ground, paling. "Corinth is fallen also, Gwen, the Speaker, and I barely escaped with our lives." She was panicking, that much was obvious. She keeled over as everything went black, the last thing she saw being her friend's worried face.

Some time later, she woke, in an unfamiliar bed, in a vaguely familiar room. She groaned and sat up, pinching the bridge of her nose, and looked around. A voice startled her, though she should have been expecting someone would be put on watch over her. "You're awake," The voice came from an ashen skinned woman, a Dunmer, who was sitting near her. "You caused quite a stir back there. We haven't heard any news from other sanctuaries in…. quite some time." Gwen inclined her head, acknowledging the words.

"As far as I know, this is the only one left. Wayrest may still be open, but we've lost contact." She chuckled softly. "I probably should have written, but I was a bit distracted when we were taken as we crossed the border."

"We?" The woman inquired.

"Oh… my sister and I. We travelled together. I don't know where she is though. We were separated…." She trailed off, mind flashing back, before she was distracted by the smell of food. "Is there something I can eat?" Her companion laughed.

"Yes of course. It was Nazir's turn to cook today, so you're in for a bit of a treat. I'm Gabrielle by the way, Nazir is the Redguard, Babette you obviously know, Astrid is the Matron, with Arnbjorn as her husband. Who does that leave… Festus is the grouchy old mage, he's back now and Veezara is the Argonian." Lucia nodded, trying to keep the names straight, and stood, brushing herself off.

"Alright. I'll introduce myself properly… this time hopefully without so much…. Drama." Gabriel nodded, and led her out to the kitchen, where a steaming meal was laid out, with everyone sitting down around.

"Looks like our guest woke up just in time." This came from the blonde, Astrid. Lucia inclined her head.

"I apologise for the problems Matron. I haven't slept in a while and I suppose it got the better of me." Astrid gave a smile at this, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"It is fine. And we have reason to celebrate, knowing another dark sister survives. Please, sit, and eat. You must be hungry." Lucia nodded again, and took a place, helping herself and digging into some of the aromatic food, looking around the table at everyone else occasionally. When she finished, and looked up again, she realised she was once more the centre of attention. Babette spoke up, leaning on the table eagerly to look at her.

"So… tell us a story Lucia… and try not to faint in your soup."


	8. Hangovers and Netch Piss

When Gwen woke, it took her a moment to realise that the pounding was not just in her head. As soon as she did, she was out of bed, dagger at the ready, and tensed, ready for fight or flight. It proved unnecessary as the door opened and she saw the redheaded Nord, Brynjolf, her fuzzy mind said, filling in the blank from what Delvin had told her. Their drink last night had turned into two, then three, and after that she had lost count. Putting away the dagger, she shot the Nord a look when he tried to speak, holding up a finger, asking for him to wait a minute. He seemed amused as she stumbled across the room to her back, feeling like she had been run over by the corrupt carriage driver. With a groan, she found the hidden, reinforced pocket in her pack, and fished out a healing potion, downing it on one, and screwing up her face.

"That stuff tastes worse than netch piss." Her first words of the day, combined with her accent, spoke of a time in her past she would rather forget. Before Brynjolf could react, however, and begin speaking once more, she turned to look at him, sapphire eyes cold and hard. "Get out. I need to change out of this stinking armour, and you are not watching." With a chuckle, he complied, shutting the door. Once she felt more human, or mer, or halfling she supposed, and with her coffee hair tamed in a braid, she pulled the amulet out of her dress, glad it hadn't shown itself during the night, she hoped at least. Holding it to her forehead for a moment, she hummed, then tucked it away again, opening the door. "Now you can speak." Brynjolf chuckled.

"Had a bit much to drink Lass?" His smirk was infuriating, but she held herself back from reacting, just lifting an eyebrow and waiting for him to say what he had come to say. "Alright, alright lass. Mercer's not happy that you kept him waiting lass, and if Mercer's not happy, around here, nobody is. He was just about ready to throw you out, until Delvin convinced him otherwise. I suggest you get down there as soon as you can. Pack your bag, you won't be coming back here." When he finished, it was a trigger to look around, and realise that this wasn't the inn. Frowning, but mutely, she followed Bryn outside after she was packed, noting the name on the plaque beside the door before she was dragged off. Riftweald Manor. Filing it away for future reference, she looked around Riften. Nothing seemed to have changed since her visit the day before, apart from the fact it was a little earlier.

When she saw where they were heading, Gwen dug in her heels and stopped. "I'm not marrying you Nord." The stubborn words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them, but she made no move to take them back. He chuckled again, moving her to narrow her eyes. She had the feeling that she would eventually find that sound infuriating.

"I didn't bring you here to wed you lass. I'm taking you the quick way in." At that, Gwen's curiosity was piqued. And she followed again. As the large false coffin moved back with a scrape, she winced. Perhaps the headache wasn't quite gone yet. Taking a steadying breath, she descended into the bowels of Riften once more, the stench of the sewer hitting her worse that the taste of the potion had that morning. The pessimistic Breton who met them in the centre of the room set her teeth on edge, and Gwen knew, immediately, that things would come to a head between them in a violent manner. But, for now, he was her Guildmaster, and she had to at least appear to respect him. Only parts of the conversation that ensued made it through to her brain. Bees, honey, no killing. Those parts she got. Burn three beehives, and clean out the safe. Brynjolf protested, but it was shot down. She was told which trunk would be hers, and where to get her armour from. That bit reached her, that she would finally have a decent set of armour. She was in the middle of compiling a mental list of the spells she would need to protect her trunk when she was interrupted by a single sentence. "And you may want to hide that bit of jewellery a bit better if you don't want anyone asking questions, elf." Automatically, Gwen went to reply that she wasn't full elf, until it sunk in. Her skin went from being toned slightly golden to deathly pale, and her eyes widened in panic. Hand flying up to where the amulet was hidden beneath her clothes, she searched her mind for ideas on how to explain it. She came up with none, and was left shaking, though the laugh startled her once more. "We don't care who you are down here, elf, if that's what you are, we just care that you get things done. Any trouble though…" He trailed off, and Gwen nodded mutely, taking her escape as soon as she could. The amulet was pulsing with her heartbeat, but still hidden, for now at least. She wondered how long she would be safe, how long it would be before she had to flee her responsibility once more.


	9. The last remaining

Lucia's story was told over the course of days. It was not a pretty story, not healthy for children at all, but then, what would you expect of an assassin. Some things were left out, such as her exact parentage, but the fall of the sanctuary, and subsequent days were told in horrific detail. She spoke of the silence of the Night Mother, which had the others nodding, and how everything fell apart. It would have taken less time, but Babette insisted that everyone be around to hear the story, that she would not have to tell it multiple times. Astrid was cold, unyielding, though seemed to warm up to her a little as time went by. Arnbjorn, her partner and husband, was gleeful when Lucia told of the attack of the were-bears when visiting her sister on Solstheim. Festus was older and grouchier than she remembered, but they still held their delightful conversations about magic, though he finally held a more mature viewpoint. A few compliments on his cooking seemed to get the Redguard, Nazir, to open up a little, and a pouch of spice all the way from Corinthe definitely got her on his good side. She had managed to steal a few of her possessions back, and was glad she had thought to pick up the aromatic packet. Veezara was easy to get along with, as her time in Elseweyr gave her a healthy respect for the so-called 'beast people.' Gabrielle was delightful, with 'Let's talk about the worst tasting potions we have ever had' yielding many unique recipes and mixtures Lucia had never thought of. Babette kept her company when she couldn't sleep, which was often, and when she finally finished her story, she was treated with respect, if only because she had a long life behind her, most of it in service to the Brotherhood.

The morning after she finally finished, Lucia found herself sitting in the shadow of the scratched wall in the main room of the Sanctuary. She remembered, from when she was younger, much younger, sitting with Gwen as they held discussion about anything and everything. At the time, her sister's words had meant the world to her, and anything she said must be true. She closed her chocolate eyes, remembering fondly the words of power, of chanting, knowing her family was irrevocably connected to this place, when she was interrupted by the scrape of the entrance door. The only ones out of the sanctuary at the moment were Gabrielle and Arnbjorn. Neither were due back for a day at least, so either something had gone wrong, or the sanctuary had it's second uninvited visitor within a week. There was no question that it was someone going outside, the door opened outwards silently, and so Lucia was up, bow at the ready with an arrow nocked. The cackle that drifted down the hall instantly brought her mother to mind, but she dismissed it. The sound was far too masculine. Babette was beside her even faster than she had drawn her bow, gesturing for her to put it down. Astrid's voice greeted the visitor, false delight cloaking it. "Keeper. What a… lovely surprise. We have been expecting you for some time." Keeper. Lucia's mind was racing. The Keeper kept the Night Mother, when the Night Mother had no Listener. There had been no Listener in years, it was why the Brotherhood had fallen apart. If the Keeper was in Skyrim, the Night Mother must be too. It was obvious, in hindsight, that She would be brought to the last remaining Sanctuary, but it didn't make her feel any better. The words exchanged gave her a definite sense of her mother, and a glimpse of the jester's motley as he came into the main room told her all she needed to know. Her mother had touched this little imperial, for reasons known only to herself. It was probably for the best, anyway, as he would have been alone for so long. It took a moment for her to look past the motley, to see the man underneath.

"Cicero must be seeing things, poor sweet Cicero thought he saw his sweet sister!" She beamed, and actual, true, smile, and set her bow down, crossing the room. She hugged him, though her eyes spoke to Astrid over his head, of her shock, her worry. Lucia vowed to herself that she would convince her mother to give Cicero up, knowing that he wouldn't be accepted until that happened.

"Cicero, you haven't seen a ghost. It's really me." Shock greeted the pair's exchange, though Babette put it together first, and it was almost as if a torch had gone on in her head.

"You were in Cheyindal weren't you Lucia. For many years." A simply nod greeted her, as she stroked Cicero's hair. He had burst into tears at seeing a familiar face for the first time in decades, and she silently wondered just how bad it must have been for him.

"Shh… shh… Cicero… it's alright… you're here now… among your sisters and brothers… you're safe…" She was trying to get him to calm down, and she looked to Astrid again, eyes pleading. The woman softened slightly, seeing the bond between the pair. They were directed to a room, and finally, she was able to get him to calm down. They spoke for a few minutes, before the little man fell asleep. Sighing, she returned to the main room, to be bombarded with questions. Holding up her hands, to stop them, she took a breath. "I was attached to Cheyindal for many years. I was Cicero's mentor when he joined the Brotherhood, and I was the last to be reassigned before it fell. I had duties at the time, so couldn't go back to check on him. Now, I wish I had. Sheogorath has touched him, whether to his benefit or disadvantage I don't know. I will try to convince her to release him at least a little when I can, but for now can people please go easy on him. From what I can gather he was alone with nothing but the silent Night Mother for decades." Without waiting for a reply, she went to bed, knowing she wouldn't get any rest once that sunk in, and needing to sleep for a little while at least.


	10. Sneaking Bees

Gwen was considering giving up. This was something that didn't happen very often at all. Usually she was strong-willed, and stubborn. This was one secret, though, that she would do anything to keep. Sitting on her new bed, she considered her options. She could stay with the Guild, and pretend nothing had happened. She could leave, and pretend she had never been there, but with Delvin knowing she was back in Skyrim she couldn't go to the Brotherhood. Not for the moment anyway. The third option, as she saw it, was to kill Mercer Frey before he could endanger her any more. While it was attractive, it would put her in a bad position, so for now, she just had to wait. Coming to her decision, she stirred herself heading out to the Flagon to find the fence, and get a set of armour. She looked around, trying to match the description she had been given to a face. Finally she spotted the Redguard, and headed over, trying to block out the sounds around her. One short, unpleasant conversation later, and she finally had a decent set of armour, and her pack was considerately lighter. She slipped away to change, this time, checking around to make sure nobody saw the Amulet, and hoped people would just decide she was shy. Finally, she returned, and obtained a map of the lake, so she could plan what she was going to do with this job. She had to get in, burn three hives, no more, and clean out the safe. The safe was in the basement, and that was what she would sort out first. If she tried to burn the hives, then get to the safe, it would put the guards on high alert. However, if it went the other way, it could be days before anyone found out the safe was empty.

Eventually, she was out, slipping away before people could notice she was gone. She waited for the sun to be near setting to slip into the water, finding her way to the sewer system of the island. When she surfaced, thankfully on the correct side, she took a deep breath of clean air, preparing herself for the long sneak ahead. When she was collected, she slipped into the sewer, Muffle casting in one hand, Invisibility in the other. She was careful not to touch anything, and to look for places where she could duck into alcoves, or hide, to recharge her Magicka. It took a while to get through, though she had no way of telling the time when she was down underground. One thing she noticed was that the guards were lazy. When they decided their shifts were finished, they would walk off to find someone to relieve them. Using that, she finally made it almost to the safe. One last guard stood in her way. Unlike the others, he seemed alert, and careful. She could wait for him to tire, or she could find a way past him. Her decision was made for her when he finally sat in the chair, almost stepping on her. Silently, she cast once more, and made it into the room with the safe, ducking around the corner so he couldn't see her. She spied the safe, and grimaced, pulling out her lockpicks. A check up the hall revealed the guard was not only asleep, but snoring. The sound he made would cover any from her opening the safe. She set to work, spells wearing off before she heard the faint click that was the last tumbler moving into place. She turned the contraption carefully, and it swung open silently. Clearing it out, she left the sewers the same way.

Gwen had thought long and hard about how to burn the hives. Being part Altmer, magic came to her easily, one of the things she shared with her sister. A simple flames spell was always an option. How to get away afterwards would be the problem. If she was as good with her archery as her sister, she would try shooting the hives with flaming arrows, but she didn't trust herself enough for that. The third option would be to sneak up with a torch. All presented interesting ideas, but by far, her favourite was magically burning them. She could control it that way, and if anything happened, there was a big lake she could jump into to get away. Decision made, she wrapped the document she had pulled out of the safe in her oilskin, and tucked it beside the amulet in her armour. Crouching down, she pushed through the door, opening it onto the twilight just before dawn. It wasn't a coincidence. She knew this was the time when Nocturnal was at her strongest. Saying a silent prayer, she headed across the grounds, avoiding mercenaries as she went. Finally she was next to the hives. She cancelled the Muffle, and called flames to her hand again. One more quick prayer, and she fired, hitting three hives in quick succession. They all caught, and started burning. Her suspicions about the mercenaries being lazy were proved correct, as she was almost back to the lake before they realised the flames were licking at the precious hives. She smirked, and dived into the water. She hated mead anyway.


	11. Challenge?

When Lucia woke, it was, once more, to one of her Dark Sisters watching over her. Babette, it seemed, had been keeping vigil over her, and with something dwelling on her mind. She had opened her mouth to speak, when Lucia held up her hands, a signal to wait, just a few moments. "Tell me. Which part has been preying on your mind sister. Is it that the arrival of the Keeper will upset the sanctuary Matron, because obviously, at this stage, the pair will clash? Is it that one of the Daedric princes was able to touch one sworn to Sithis, because that, I can actually explain. Or is it that I left something out of my tale of woe?" Babette smiled softly, her eyes belying her true age, in all their crimson glory.

"None of the above Lu, or well, perhaps it ties in. You speak of Sheogorath as female... But is he not what we on Mundus perceive as male?"

"Babble..." Lucia got a smile at that, from the nonsense word she had first called Babette before she could pronounce her name properly. "That is... a story in itself. Do you remember, when I first came to the Sanctuary? You had been here only a year or so." A nod was her only reply. "It was not my first visit here. I have been around the Brotherhood since I was born, but it was only then I took the final step to be inducted as a Dark Sister. It was in my blood you see, though one would not think so now." A frown crossed Babette's face, and she spoke up.

"I don't see what this has to do with..." Lucia cut her off.

"I am getting there. See, two years before I came here, an odd door appeared in Niben bay. Nobody knew what it was there for, nobody knew where it led. Nobody who entered the door returned. My mother had been part of the Brotherhood for two centuries. She had been Listener for most of that time. She had been content with Listening for the Night Mother for all that time, and had always been true to the Family, even after my father's death." Seeing the look on the vampire's face, Lucia smiled once more. "I will tell you another time. But as I said, assassination is in my blood. Anyway, where was I. Oh yes, the door. Mother knew it was time for someone else to take the responsibility of leadership, so she consulted with the Night Mother. I do not know what exactly happened, but it was announced that she would be the first Listener to survive to retirement. She handed in her Blade of Woe, given to her by my father when she first joined, and left the Brotherhood. She was still affiliated, but no longer was she an active member. She decided to investigate the door in the Niben bay, and soon after she entered, it closed, with no trace of what had once been there. I searched for her for a year, before I found out what had happened. Again, I do not entirely understand, but somehow, my mother had become Sheogorath. Daedric Prince of Madness. That is why she was able to touch Cicero, because she was still somewhat a part of the Dark Brotherhood." Lucia had to wait a while for a reply, worried somewhat as Babette seemed to be in shock. When she finally moved, it prompted a breath of relief.

"Your mother... once the greatest Listener the brotherhood has ever known... Became a Daedric Prince?" Lucia nodded in reply, and started as another voice spoke up.

"So that is why you told everyone you would try to convince her to release the jester. Because she may actually listen." The golden skinned girl turned to Astrid, and nodded.

"I would like to do it as soon as I can Matron, if it is not too much trouble. I believe it will make the transition easier." Astrid crossed her arms, leaning against the wall.

"But how do I know I can trust you? You say your mother was the Listener, but you have no proof." Lucia's chocolate eyes were narrowed, dark, cold.

"I am not here to usurp you. Far from it, I was simply looking for a place to call home, to call Sanctuary, after mine was destroyed. I respect your authority as Matron of this Sanctuary, and, as there is no Listener, that makes you the highest rank currently known within the Brotherhood. The Black hand is gone, it never recovered from what happened at the end of the third Era. We may be the only ones left if all of Tamriel, we cannot afford to let bickering and fighting amongst ourselves destroy us. I wish to make the assimilation of the Keeper easier on all of us, and to ease his pain at losing so much of his Family. That is not a selfish goal, it is a goal for the good of the sanctuary. That means, that if you seek to stand in my way, you are making things harder on everyone." Once Lucia's rant was over, the tension was so thick between the two facing off that it could almost be cut with a wooden sword. Neither wanted to back down, and it took Babette interjecting to halt the standoff.

"Do you know how to contact your mother Lucia?" The look on her face, of surprise, and even a little abashment, drew a laugh, and broke the tension. She had the grace to look contrite, embarrassed even.

"I really should have a plan before I go about challenging the Matron's authority. My apologies, for any insult, but I really do want to only help." Astrid laughed, if coldly, and her icy blue eyes narrowed at the raven haired newcomer.

"You may go. I believe your intentions... this time. I believe there is a madman wandering the streets of Solitude. If you will return, I will have a job ready for you." The dismissal was obvious, even though they were in Lucia's own, if temporary, room. She nodded, and, ignoring Babette for now, turned to pack those few things she had unpacked, and soon left through the black door. She sighed, looking both ways. She was in for a long trek to Solitude.


	12. Surfacing

Gueneveire swam steadily across the lake, back towards Riften. Though cold, freezing actually, the water was a safer option than surfacing and taking the main gate.

Making sure there was nobody around to see her, and slipping through the gateway into the canal, she moved to the Ratway, fingers resting lightly on where the Amulet sat, nestled under her armour.

This time, there were no thugs or skeevers to fight, and she made it to the Ragged Flagon still dripping water. Now in safety, she called a Flames spell to hand, using it to warm her numb hands, and feeding enough magicka in to be able to begin to dry out.

By the time Brynjolf emerged from the direction of the cistern, she was almost dry, and a lot more comfortable.

"Word on the street is that Goldenglow's been hit. Riften woke to smoke this morning, and you've done your job. Were you able to get anything from the safe lass?"

"Bag of coins, and this;"

Undoing some of her buckles, she pulled out the oilskin, and unwrapped the document she had recovered. Handing it over, she made no mention of the gold; that was her bonus as far as Gwen was concerned.

As Bryn read the page, he passed over a bag of coins. "Your pay, Aringoth sold Goldenglow? Is the wood elf insane or just suicidal?"  
"I don't know, didn't see him to ask. Had other things on my mind."

"So you did lass. Maven's asked to see you, up at the Bee and Barb. She doesn't like to be kept waiting, even less than Mercer. No getting drunk with Delvin this time."

Leaving, with a gesture towards him that could be in no way misunderstood, the half-mer left through the cistern, casting a longing glance towards 'her' bed as she passed. Instead, she emerged into the growing light of day, picking her way across the marketplace and slipping into the inn.

Weaving past the tables and chairs to the bar, a quiet word with the Argonian barmaid directed her upstairs. Looking, she found the Nord matriarch and walked over, leaning casually against the table. She could play these games of posturing if she had to.

"You wanted to speak to me?"

"You're the one Mercer sent? I thought I told him his best." Gwen fought to not let her surprise show, to be thought such after one job. Something was a bit odd about that, but she would think on it later.

"I prefer to let my actions speak for themselves. What do you want." She refused to be cowed. This woman may be powerful here, but she was nothing to the flowing amulet that lay hidden under her armour.

"I need you to take down an upstart new meadery. You will be meeting with my contact, Mallus, in Whiterun at the Bannered Mare. While you take him down you can find out how he started up so quickly. Well, what are you still doing here?"

Parting with a glare, and a roll of her eyes, Gwen was muttering curses, running through languages as quickly as she thought of them. Nothing was complimentary, to say the least. Returning to the Ratway, she packed her bags and, not bothering to care about the corruption of the driver, clambered on the carriage back to Whiterun.


	13. Meeting with Madness

Lucia walked through the night to reach Solitude, avoiding patrols and bandits on the road by moving through the underbrush. It was a long trip, but she made it in the end, just in time to witness the execution of a Nord, simply for opening a gate. Delightful. She loved Skyrim. The atmosphere was wonderful. Before she even found the 'madman' beggar she was insulted on her fashion choice, and had to skirt some Thalmor officers. She truly wasn't sure where she stood in the eyes of the Dominion right now. She was a Halfling after all. Finally she heard the familiar ravings of one touched by Sheogorath. And it sounded like she had decided to take a vacation. How wonderful.

Receiving a hipbone, how delightful, this version of her mother had an interesting sense of humour, she entered the Blue Palace, coaxing a maid to let her into the Pelagius wing. Looking around at the dusty elegance, the ragged remnants of grandeur, she twisted her lips into a forlorn smile, exploring when she was whisked away by a Daedric portal.

Returning to awareness, the half-Altmer discovered she was dressed in fine clothes of Alinor design. The dress swished around her as she moved towards the table, laden with food, in the centre of a misted clearing. There were two seated figure, one in rand, bright motley, and the other in regal regalia. She recognised the face her mother often took in this form, and cracked a wry smile at the conversation.

"Dear Pelly, do have some more tea will you?"

"I'm afraid I can't, it goes right through me."

It was at this point the Mad God noticed her, and eyes widened in recognition. After a wave of the hand to dismiss the other, who Lucia would guess had been Pelagius, she let her featured morph into those of a youthful Altmer, even growing in height.

"Lucia. It has been a long time. There are many who I expected to come wake me from my vacation, you are not one of them. What brings you to the mind of Pelagius the mad?" Smiling at having her guess confirmed, daughter gave an exaggerated curtsey to mother, Speaker to Listener, Halfling to Hero.

"You, mother, or rather, something concerning you. You have touched one of the Night Mother's own, her keeper. Cicero was lonely, and I suppose your touch probably saved him from taking his own life, but the Brotherhood needs him back. Your touch on him is making the Matron uneasy." She received a perfectly cultured, studied blank look in response, facial muscles not moving.

"The Keeper was given to my care to return when the time is right, to return when the Listener is to be chosen. After fire and blood, after I watched my Family fall once more. Whether I release him or not, the old ways will return, and soon." The elf-turned-daedra pulled a sprig of nightshade from thin air. Speaking words a mere mortal could not comprehend, she sent a question out of her own realm, and into the Void.

A dunmer materialised, red of eyes and white of hair. A youthful woman, she was smiling, though cold as death itself. Lucia felt a compulsion to drop to another curtsey. This woman was special, revered, and words slipped out between her lips like a breath, a prayer. "Night Mother."  
"Rise, my dark daughter. I am a loving mother, like your own, and would not wish sore bones on you." Shaking slightly, to the tips of her ears, Lucia stood again, eyes raking in the form of the Bride of Sithis. "Dear Cicero longed for a voice, but he was not the one who needed to Listen. That burden is yours, dear daughter. Darkness Rises when Silence Dies. Tell my dear keeper when his wits return, but be gentle with him. He spent so long alone that it was better for him to turn to your birth mother's grasp. But be warned, upheaval is coming." Her voice had taken on a trance-like quality. "Darkness Rises when Silence Dies, a phoenix burns before it flies. The Family will sink lower than it ever has before, only to be reborn in flame, and to come out the other side stronger for it. Wheels turn, dynasties fall, old information comes to light. Darkness rules the tower of light, sisters must choose between mother and father, man and mer. A darkness is coming to Tamriel, and the duty of saving it falls to two of my dear daughters. You are, however, up to this task. I know the two of you will rise more than ever before, and make the Family strong for it."

Her part said, the Night Mother returned the way she had come, falling apart into pieces. Sheogorath, having taken the form of revelry once more, smiled, and nodded. "Cicero is yours again. Follow the wishes of Astrid for now, and caution the Keeper against acting contrary to the Matron for now. I have faith in you my daughter. I suppose it is past time I returned to the Isles." As she called for her steward, Lucia felt herself falling, tumbling back to Tamriel. Her old, worn clothes lay at her feet as she looked around the Pelagius wing once more. Kicking them aside, she felt her foot hit a staff, the three faces of the door that took her mother greeting her as she picked it up.

"Champion mother? Really? As well as Listener?" Shaking her head when she didn't get a reply, not that she expected one, she turned and left the wing, making sure the beggar was gone, and bartered for a carriage to Falkreath, illusion magic turning the staff into something less noticeable. She never saw the cowled golden eyes watching her depart.


	14. Trouble in Whiterun

"So let me get this straight. You want me to walk in, convince a sceptical man I am there for pest control, kill a bunch of skeevers and poison a vat, which he may have already taken the mead out for tasting anyway?" Guenevere was not pleased. After bumping along in the carriage to Whiterun, she had met her contact at the Bannered Mare, and heard this absurd plan. "That isn't a job for a thief, pull the other one. I have a better plan. I disgrace him by speaking to the Jarl, I have information that will let him trust me, and then YOU let me in and I get what I need." She could tell the Imperial sitting across from her wasn't happy, but it really was a harebrained scheme. And she disliked skeevers anyway. "Then you can have a guard go through and clear out the skeevers for you. Doesn't that sound more sane?"

"And how do I know you won't just betray me to the Jarl?" In the opinion of the guild member, Mallus Mallarcius was annoying, and couldn't think of a good plan to save his life.

"I'm Guild. Not Brotherhood." Not currently anyway. "It would be bad for business."

Another hour of argument had Gwen succeeding, and she was on her way up to Dragonsreach, rolling her eyes at the shouts of the Talos 'priest' by the statue. She knew that Man and Mer could ascend to godhood, there was the case of her mother after all, and she had actually met Talos for a few moments, in passing, a response to a desperate plea. She knew if not for this civil war, however, the Thalmor would not have as much of a presence in this Province, and everyone would still have their little shrines. Instead there was a bloody, raging war instigated by those who had an interest in making the Empire fall.

Her contemplation finished, she stepped through the grand doors to the Jarl's keep, taking in her surroundings. With purpose, and a slight look of disdain for the dunmer who attempted to stop her, she stood in front of the Jarl, one hand on her hip. "I bring news, and I'll be damned if I don't deliver it. Riverwood begs their Jarl's aid, fearing the dragon will hit there. The town is nigh on defenceless, and the safety of your people is worth more than any posturing, civil war or not. On that note, I have a complaint against the owner of Honningbrew meadery. After finding skeever scat in my mead, I approached the owner politely, and he refused to talk to me. My mother is a noble of Alinor. My father has a statue in the Imperial city. If I get sick from that poor excuse of a mead and nothing is done about it I could simply call poison and bring a whole Thalmor battalion upon your hold." She spoke with authority, the ease of one who was used to getting their own way, and it was only partially an act. She had pulled out a dress for the occasion, looking every part the haughty Altmer she played, but for her colouring.

The Jarl appeared shocked at being spoken to in such away, the Housecarl near growling. Curiously, though, the Steward gave her a short nod. An imperial, she supposed he must have some idea to the workings of the Empire, and that she could very well be right. Quiet words were spoken between said Steward and Jarl, as she waited impatiently, and finally he spoke.  
"While the tone you use is not appreciated, you have brought valuable information. The owner of the Meadery will be arrested for attempted poison. As to Riverwood, Irileth, send a detachment of guards there at once. My apologies for your experiences in my hold madam, but may I trouble you to speak to my Court Wizard? He is aching for more knowledge about dragons, and if you have seen one with your own eyes…" He trailed off as Gwen gave a small smirk, and curtsied, before whisking herself into the side room where she could smell reagents, and feel the crackle of magic.

The robed inhabitant did not even look up as she approached, examining a golden dragon's claw, a stone on the bench beside him. Drawn to the stone, her skirt swished as she moved to look at it, eyes drinking in the scratches, so much like the dragon walls around the province which sang to her. "A translation and… map? In the Dovah tongue?" Her fingers drifted out to touch it, as the mage looked up, startled.

"A map I caught, but translations as well?"

"Yes, here, see, it's in Akaviri, and then here," She traced a line underneath the one she had just pointed to. "This is the scratches that are on the dragon walls around Skyrim, and actually, to think of it, a few other provinces as well. I call it Dovah because, well, it feels right. It sings to me." The mage was looking on in disbelief, and was about to reply when a guard ran past the room, all jangling armour.

"Dragon! Attacking the Western Watchtower!"

The voice of the Housecarl came quickly, calling the mage. Gwen tagged along, at a nudge from the warmth nestled against her chest. Her appearance drew a few looks, but no comments. She had, after all, actually seen a dragon, unlike the rest of them. Before too long, however, she had slipped away, running through a list of spells in her mind as she left the keep, moving in the direction of the flashes of light she could see. She wasn't running, no, but not far from. It was simple to get through the gates, and she streaked across the countryside to crouch near a rock, watching the dragon fly off towards the mountain. She wasn't so stupid as to go in alone, but she could scout the area where she may have to fight.


	15. Dubious Sanity

As Lucia climbed down off the cart in Falkreath, using the Wabbajack as a staff and walking stick, she stretched. Flipping a coin to the carriage driver as a tip, she shouldered her pack, and set off back down the road, small amounts of illusion magic wrapping around her to make her look like she wasn't worth being a target. In this manner, she reached the turn-off to the sanctuary. Leaning against a tree before going in, she dropped the magic, and felt a familiar presence nearby. "Shadowmere?" The word slipped out unintended, as she turned to the pond, letting the tips of her fingers touch the water. She hadn't seen her mother's horse in years, though she knew it had been passed through many hands.

Realising that she couldn't call forth the steed, she rose once more, walking over to the black door, placing her hand on the palm print. "The music of life is silence, my brother." The door welcomed her home, swinging open, and she stepped through, ears peeled for any sounds. There was the babble of voices in the main area, which she walked towards, making little sound other than the swish of her skirts. Laughter filled her ears, the familiar laughter of a friend, rather than the high-pitched cackle of a madman.

"Oh yes, I told some jokes of my own. I took his place and performed instead, as the contract stated he needed to perform. They never found the switch." Lucia grinned, moving into the light, clapping. "You always were good with the jokes Cicero. How… How are you?" The members of the sanctuary turned, some wary, others smiling, a few giving her double looks at the outfit she was wearing, the staff she bore. The crimson-haired Imperial beamed.

"I am well sister Lucia. Better than I have been in a long time, and I understand I have you to thank. Thank you Sister." While speaking, he had stepped closer, and with the final words, he handed her his own dagger. "I know it is not much, but this dagger has brought me through many things. Now it is yours." Seeming to become aware of the stares, he gave her a quick hug, and moved away. "I need to prepare to take care of Mother soon." With those parting words, he fled up the stairs, and Lucia deliberately put the dagger in her boot, looking at the others levelly.

"It is done, he is sane once more. Probably pained, he saw the fall of two sanctuaries, but sane netherless. Is that enough for you Matron?" The blonde Nord nodded, before beckoning her over, and walking up towards the entrance. Lucia followed, silently.

"I am still not happy you challenged my authority, but it has certainly eased the transition of the Keeper and the Night Mother. As I told you, I have a contract you can take. Word has reached us that a child is praying to the Night Mother in Windhelm, for the murder of Grelod the Kind, who runs the orphanage in Riften. You are to go to Riften, kill the old woman, and then to Windhelm to collect payment from the boy."

"Yes Matron. May I speak to Cicero for a while before I leave?" Astrid looked at her suspiciously.

"You may, but not for long. This Sanctuary needs to start making a name for itself. With the old hag here we need to…" She didn't get the chance to complete the sentence, as Lucia had a dagger at her throat.

"Never dishonour the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Let this be your first strike, Matron. To have the Bride of Sithis in this sanctuary is to have a final chance to rebuild the Brotherhood. There may no longer be a Black Hand, but I'll be damned if I let the tenets fade away. In the old Brotherhood, I would be your superior in skill and in rank, but the Black Hand is no more. I am willing to follow you, as I have no wish to lead, but I will not take disrespect. Am I understood? And that goes for you too wolf." She had felt, more than heard, the werewolf approach. He must have heard what she was saying from the other wolf. Astrid, meanwhile, was glaring at the taller woman, but eventually backed down, sullenly.

"Understood."

"On that note, I will be spending time with the Night Mother often. Just because there is no Listener," She deliberately left out that she had been named such, "Does not mean she is undeserving of prayer."

With those parting words, Lucia walked back to the main chamber, and spoke out evenly as she crossed the room towards the stairs. "Babbette, I know you can hear me, would you please come here?" The child vampire came out of the dining area, giving her a curious look. Lucia shook her head, and nodded towards the door to the chapel, where the Night Mother's coffin resided. Opening the door, she moved through, and let Babbette in as well, before closing it behind her. "Cicero!" The once-mad imperial came in, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yes Sister? Sister Vampire?" Lucia looked between the two, sitting down on one of the benches as she collected her thoughts.

"First, Darkness rises when Silence dies. Shh!" She forestalled their speaking.

"Technically, that makes me leader, but I am willing to leave it to Astrid for now, she is Matron and leader of this sanctuary. Second, I have reinstated the Tenets. There will likely be an announcement made when I am gone. Until such time as we know the Wrath of Sithis has been recovered, I will be acting in it's proxy. Astrid is already on her first strike. I need the two of you to be my eyes and ears. Can you do that for me?" She received nods from both of them, and inclined her head in acknowledgement. "I am going to Riften to kill Grelod the Kind. Then I travel to Markath to meet with a contact. You two need to be ready to leave, just in case, I do not trust Astrid completely, and I know the feeling is mutual."

"But Lucia, why won't you announce it? You are the Listener after all." Babbette cut Cicero off.

"I don't want to lead, only to listen. I have other things I need to do at the moment. I am not the right person to rebuild this place. I do not have the administrative know-how. Now. I have to go." She hugged both of them, and then left, silently slipping through the sanctuary, on her journey to rebuild the Brotherhood into a force to be reckoned with.


	16. The Soul Reveals

Gwen's deep blue eyes scoured over the scene, the watchtower, half-collapsed, the fires still about. Soon enough, she was joined by the Dunmer and a contingent of guards. She tuned out their shouts and footfalls, calling lightning to life, crackling at her fingers. She saw the guards enervously edging away from the electricity that coiled around her hands, but didn't care, heading into the ravaged tower when they did. She paid no mind to the others, who spread out, approaching the ruined tower instead. When the guard came out, yelling, she was startled, but had enough of a mind to draw back, looking towards the mountains the dragons had gone to.

The fight was short, but bloody and brutal. Most of the guards died in that first wave of fire, but the dragon was already peppered with arrows from it's first run. Twin blasts of lightning sprang from her fingers, hitting it in the sensitive wings joints, bringing it to the ground, roaring and snarling, where swords and magic finished it off. It was truly a monstrous beast, easily dwarfing the men and mer around. She approached, seeing if there was anything worth salvaging from it. In historic times, dragon armour had been highly prized for its durability after all. When her chest burned, she wasn't ready for it, clutching at the necklace where it was hidden below her dress, and dropping to her knees as the dragons flesh dissolved to embers, its soul flowing into her. She felt understanding in her mind, a word she could speak, and it would do so much for her.

“Dragonborn! She is dragonborn!” One of the guards cried, to the disdain of the dunmner housecarl. Gwen felt tears trickle from the corners of her eyes. Of course she was dragonborn. It was her birthright after all. But did it have to be revealed so soon?

“There have been no dragonborn in two centuries, since the death of the Septim line. You are all being ridiculous.” The housecarl snapped.

“The Dragonborns of old could take the souls of dragons. It's a Nordic thing, you wouldn't understand.” One of the guards snapped in return, before turning to Gwen. “Can you shout? Like the dragons do?”

Gwen stood, brushing down her skirts. “I... I can. I think.” The guards were all excited, especially the one who spoke to her.

“Will you try? Just... think of it and shout?” She chuckled, and looked up at the sky, feeling it wouldn't be good to do this at them.

“YOL!” The shout tore at her throat, but felt wonderful to release. Fire spread upwards from her mouth, and she felt the Dovah within her, its memories hissing in her mind.

“You truly are Dragonborn! The Jarl will want to hear of this!” Slowly, she nodded, and followed the guards back towards Whiterun, stumbling only slightly with a thief's reflexes as she heard the booming voice.

“DOV AH KIIN!” Looking up towards the mountain, she winced, before allowing herself to be hurried up to the keep.

The scene when she entered Dragonsreach was different to the first time. For one thing, she wasn't being glared at by the Dunmer. For another, the Jarl was staring at her. With a sigh, she walked closer, crossing her arms.

“The dragon was defeated. It is dead.”

The Jarl nodded.

“It seems once again you have done a service to Whiterun. Was there anything else though?” Seeing she couldn't get out of it, Gwen sighed, and looked around, making sure the place was secure.

“I took it's soul as dragonborn. This was no coincidence. My words cannot leave this hall.” The Jarl looked at her curiously, and many others were struck by the fact she spoke so casually of a sacred Nordic tradition. “Can you promise that to me?” Jarl Balgruuf frowned, but nodded, his curiosity overwhelming his suspicion.

Taking a breath to steady herself, Gwen began speaking again.

“What I said earlier was true. My mother is a noble of Alinor, though she hasn't been back in a long time. However, she is also Champion of Cyrodill, named as such because of her role during the Oblivion Crisis. My father stands in the Imperial City. His flesh turned to stone after fighting Mehrunes Dagon as the Avatar of Akatosh. My father's name was Martin Septim, and I am the last of the Septim line. It is why I am Dragonborn. My mother kept me from the political machinations and attempted assassinations in order to protect me, but I am the true heir to the Empire.” She thought for a moment, before giving up her 'last' secret, baring herself to the Jarl's mercy, hoping she could trust his honour. “I wear the Amulet of Kings, have since I was old enough to remember.” She pulled it out, displaying the crimson gem, repaired, with the other gems around it. “I am Dragonborn by birthright, not an accident of the gods.”


	17. A Conference of Gods

“More cheese?” The voice of the Madgod rang out, down the table to her guests. “I do admit I have grown fond of it. I used to abhor the stuff” Lena's eyes were twinkling as she surveyed the gathering she had formed. It was not often that Aedra and Daedric Princes met civilly like this, and she had offered to host. Unlike most of the others, she had been mortal once, and though she had inherited the realm, it had enabled her to make allowances for visitors who usually would not be able to enter. As far as she was aware, the only other realms which could accommodate them all were the void which was hardly accomodating at all, or the halls of Talos, if the rules worked for him as they did for her. She wasn't entirely sure. Beside, he was rather busy, with some of her mortal kin attempting to strip his power.

“No thankyou Sheo, I am quite full.” The god in question sat back, patting his stomach.

“I have told you Tiber, You can call me Lena. You are the patron Aedra of my eldest after all” Of course, formalities had to be observed for a time, but that did not mean titles had to be used.

“Of course Lena.” The warrior god was handsome, to be true, but he did not have the qualities of Martin or Lucien that had endeared them to her. He was an ally, and, on some days, even something near to a friend.

To interrupt her own musings, she stood, and clapped, clearing the table. “Shall we go to the sitting room?” Her voice was playful, yet firm. She was hosting this little get together after all. It was not a war council... that was not needed quite yet. No, this was a meeting for possible allies, and as they arranged themselves, she took stock. There was Talos, the God of War himself, seated to her left, and currently engaged in conversation with the Night Mother, of all people. She would not have picked that, but then, she was another who was once mortal, far closer to his time than she was. Then there was Sanguine, entertaining Nocturnal with his latest tales of debauchery, causing Kynareth to roll her eyes. Lucien and Martin were playing a game of cards, such a normal thing to do. At least they were getting along, unlike in the first two decades after they had found visitation possible. It was a small gathering, but it held importance. There were Aedra, Daedra, and representatives of the Void gathered peacefully in one place. Such a thing didn't happen often, and it was, in no small part, because of her two girls.

“Lucia has the Wabbajack, so I now find it easier to keep track of her. Martin, I understand you have been given care of overseeing the Amulet?” Her voice was tinged with the mad notes of her position, but her words were sane, and careful.

“I have, and I have some news. Guenevere fought her first dragon. She took Miriminulirs soul. The Amulet is able to light the Dragonfires when it becomes necessary.” Talos was nodding along.

“I fear that it will happen, but for now... the Greybeards have called the Dragonborn to train at High Hrothgar. She will surely go there soon.” Sanguine was soon to speak, when a dark shadow appeared on the floor, and Mephala slowly rose. Immediately, those in the room drew back, other than Sheogorath. Lena refused to show weakness in her own realm.

“What do you want, oh dear Mephala?” A high pitched giggle, it would unnerve most. Of course, a fellow Prince was not most.

“Do you not believe I simply came for a chat, dear, sweet Lena. Champion of Cyrodill, yet you have so many delicious secrets. As do your daughters. Dragonborn indeed...” Gritted teeth, and her eyes closed, trying not to show how affected she was.

“Sweet Mephala, your main source of power has been locked away for so long, we wouldn't wish for anything to happen to your realms would we? I am not sure I could control my associates if something was to happen to Guenevere, or Lucia because of something told to the wrong ears.” The previously beautiful face of the Mistress of secrets, et cetera, became twisted and dark. She knew that there was a stalemate.

“Of course not. Especially with such a junior Prince in charge. Such a pity, I had high hopes for you at one stage Lena of Alinor. You would have done well under my influence.” She turned, looking around the room. “The price of my silence is my freedom. My blade does not need to be fuelled, only freed.” The tone of the room was pensive, as her words were considered.

“As the Mistress of secrets, you can control their spread, stop them as well as cause them.” Lucien was speaking, thinking aloud. “If the blade was fuelled, would you stop the secret of the lineage of Guenevere from coming to light until was deemed necessary?” A laugh greeted his words.

“A master negotiator. You are another who would have done well in my realms Lachance. Very well. I accept these terms. I do not care who fuels it, as long as it is done within a cycle of Masser of Mundus.” She disappeared as quickly as she came, and the draining of tensions from the room was almost visible.

“Lucien...” The Night mother was speaking now. “You negotiated the deal, you will be responsible for seeing it through. The Purification of Falkreath will assist after all, your daughter will have to carry it out.” Tension lining his frame once more, the assassin nodded with reluctance. He would take responsibility, though he would not like it.

The meeting broke up soon after, with those involved only having some more words of planning, before departing to their own realms, leaving Lena alone, so terribly alone once more.  


	18. Revelations and Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, back to your regularly scheduled time on Nirn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is my first chapter I've written since I've ported everything over. Any suggestions or constructive criticism would be wonderful

_**Back on Mundus...** _

 

The room was silent, to the point where one could hear a pin drop. The first thing to break the silence was not speech, but movement, as the Imperial steward dropped to one knee, followed by the Housecarl, and the guards. Soon, Guenevere was standing alone, facing the seated Jarl, who had his head in one hand.

“I woke up this morning, thinking the worst I'd have to deal with was Redguard acting suspicious at the gates and a few overzealous farmers complaining about the cold. Now, not only has a dragon burnt down Helgen, but we are attacked by a different dragon, which is killed by none other than the suddenly appearing Dragonborn of Legends and the secret heir to the throne for over 200 years.... where to begin?”

"Maybe begin with the fact that I'm not the best choice for the throne. Look at me. We're not long past the Great War, and I am mostly Altmer for the first. The second, I apparently have a job to do here. 'Secret Heir' or not, the dragons are the greater issue. Plus, me taking the throne would make the current civil war situation worse, even if I was to tear up the White-Gold Concordant. And third, I am not here to cause a war of succession. I am not the best fit for the throne, and I do not want it." Gwen's entire posture was strained. She didn't want this. She didn't need this. She had only said what she had to in order to be taken seriously. The Jarl looked up, breathing a deep sigh.

“I do not like to say it, but people are going to compare you to Talos. You have been called to High Hrothgar by the Greybeards as he once was. I shall ensure your secret does not leave these walls, but others will not be so careful. You will be found before long. Titus Mede is old. He has no children, no heirs. You are not going to have much choice, I fear, about taking the throne.” The declaration was met with a sigh, as the Amulet was hidden below clothing once more.

“What will come will come, but for now, I have work to do. How do I get to this High Hrothgar?”

 

Not long afterwards, she was finally free of the uncomfortable situation, and, after a stop at the Meadery to look for information on how it had started so quickly, on a carriage to Riften. She needed to report back on her job after all, and tell the Guild... something. That she would be away for a while, obviously. Mercer wouldn't be happy, but fuck him, dragons attacking Skyrim were just a bit more important. She could do a couple jobs while she got everything together for a journey, the carriages didn't go to Ivarstead after all, but they would have to be in Riften. Or, she supposed, Ivarstead itself.

 

Returning to Black-Briar was a chore unto itself, which had raised more questions than she felt comfortable answering, though she managed to mostly deflect them. It was then she decided that she would talk to the Guild in the morning. They deserved to know part of the story after all, but only once she had slept. She needed to thing on how to phrase her story without giving away too much.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You do not need to have played Skyrim to understand


End file.
